


Would it really kill you if we kissed?

by buckybuck (thestarsthesea)



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Slow Burn, but it's broken up so you're not tortured lol, incredibly obtuse boys, talks of bruises and hurts but no violent action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsthesea/pseuds/buckybuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All those times Bucky was just too in love to help himself, and those same times Clint was too in love to question anything. Even though neither of them probably knew about their own feelings. Because, well, why <em>would</em> they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would it really kill you if we kissed?

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

The first time it happened Clint was on the wrong side of half asleep and he wasn't wearing his hearing aids.

He'd woken up to Lucky's cold, wet nose being shoved in his neck only an hour before he was planning to be up, since he had to head into SHIELD for a mission brief (which is just further proof that they're the real enemy because it wasn't even _light_ outside yet). He wasted a few minutes whining and sulking pathetically, but got up anyway, there was no use in trying for that last hour, it'd leave him groggier than if he'd just gotten up.

He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen to start coffee, eyes barely even open, but he hadn't made it passed the table before slumping to a stop in a chair. He fell face first into the table, whining into the cheap wooden surface, but the whine fell into a pained groan once he realised he couldn't hear himself. He forgot his fucking aids upstairs.

It was then he gave up. He just accepted his fate and his new home at the table.

He must have dozed off for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew the apartment smelled of coffee, and someone was rhythmically tapping the wood right above his head. He clumsily found the hand and trapped it beneath his own to stop the tapping; it was cold and distinctly metal. Ah, so Bucky was back then.

Clint felt a tug on the back of his t-shirt, and he grudgingly rolled with it, allowing himself to be pulled up, even went as far as bringing up a fist to rest his chin on. Bucky pulled his hand away, and a moment later Clint felt the heavy thunk of something hitting the table. Clint still refused to so much as crack his eyes open, but he did reach out, his fingers hitting scalding hot ceramic. He moaned unintelligibly in appreciation. No words before coffee. It's a rule, or something.

He pulled the mug close, but before he could bring it to his mouth (and burn his taste buds off with a drink) a warm hand passed sweetly though his bed head. It was early and he was tired so he leaned into it without thinking, and then there were dry lips pressed to his forehead, then his mouth, light and feather soft. There was the vibration and soft slide of something being said against his mouth, a painfully delicate brush to the skin behind his ear where his hearing aid should be, and another butterfly light kiss to his lips, then Bucky was gone.

Clint blinked his eyes open, glared grumpily at the light coming from the shitty bulb above his stove. His gaze moved to Bucky, who was still close, leaning heavily against the table beside Clint. He'd been bruised, and every line of his body screamed his exhaustion, but he was looking at Clint like he was home. Like he'd finally found a place he can rest, and, well. It's not _new_ exactly, but it's still startling and beautiful to see.

Clint had reached out before his brain could process, and barely grazed a thumb along a healing cut on Bucky's bottom lip. Bucky smiled. It was a small weary thing, just a lazy hitch to half his mouth, but still achingly beautiful. He turned into Clint's palm, a move that could barely be called a nuzzle, before he pulled away and Clint let his hand fall. He blearily watched Bucky move to the couch, and noticed it was already made up, like Bucky had gotten up just to make him coffee.

Clint blinked, feeling oddly content, and, well, that was the first time.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

The second time was four months after the first, and Clint was 100% awake (okay, maybe 90… no less than 80), and way more alert than he usually is.

Which is saying something, considering he's pretty much _always_ hyper aware of his surroundings, sometimes to the point it can be too much.

But you _have_ to pay attention when you're watching a scary movie! There could be monsters or serial killers anywhere! Or, more likely, someone being an ass in attempt to scare the shit out of you.

And he'd been staying in the tower then, that place is filled to the brim with assholes.

He and Bucky were having their usual bi-monthly movie night (that sometimes doesn't happen on the same days… and most definitely usually happens more than twice), and Clint wasn't going to let a change of venue keep him from updating Bucky on all the films he'd missed. Even though most of ones Clint chooses are shit, he's not really doing a great job at catching Bucky up, honestly.

They'd already watched three movies (insomnia is a bitch), and pretty much everyone else in the tower had joined them at some point or another, but it was late enough that only Tony was still up, and he was down in his lab (according to JARVIS at least). Bruce was the last one to leave, as soon as Clint started flicking through the horror films he'd muttered something about jump scares and blood pressure and left them alone.

Clint settled on a classic; Alfred Hitchcock's _The Birds_.

And, to be completely honest, he was pathetically terrified.

It doesn't make sense, really. It's not a scary movie at all by today's standards, but something about it had really gotten under Clint's skin that night. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the eerie black and white fuzziness of the scenes. Or maybe it just hit some sort of home spot because of all the birds.

Either way, he was curled into the smallest ball he could make of himself, pressed hard into a corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and meekly peeking over his knees to see the screen. The movie wasn't even halfway over and he was mostly ready to call it quits, but every time he looked over at Bucky he looked delighted, and Clint just couldn't bring himself to make him turn it off. Leave it to Bucky to find so much amusement in a movie about fucking _demon birds_. 

At least none of them were hawks.

A massive murder of crows had just attacked a group of school children (aw, man, _kids_ ), and Clint had been trying to burrow his way into his own knees, when he heard Bucky speak. 

"Hey, JARVIS, cut it for a sec, will ya?"

Clint cautiously picked his head up to peer around the room, his eyes ended up landing on Bucky, just to find him staring at Clint with a look of thinly veiled fond exasperation. Clint shrugged messily, mustered up a weak grin. "What? It's scary."

Bucky chuckled, a small and sweet quirk to his mouth, and shook his head. "Alright, c'mon, ya big baby. Not gonna leave you to piss yourself." He reached over the space between them, his left hand wrapped around Clint's bicep, then pulled Clint into an inelegant sprawl across the cushions.

Clint had absolutely no shame whatsoever. (He still doesn't.) So he scrambled up, didn't think about it as he tucked himself tightly to Bucky's side, both hands fisted firmly into Bucky's stupid novelty Captain America shirt. Bucky huffed another quiet laugh, curled his arm securely around Clint's shoulders, and Clint finally felt himself relax. If anyone could protect him from hell birds and asshole Avengers, it'd be Bucky.

JARVIS began playing the film again without either of them having to ask, and it wasn't five minutes before Clint was hiding himself again. Only this time he had Bucky's soft shirt to press into instead of his own sweatpants, it was way more comforting, if he's honest.

He spent the rest of the movie like that, face pressed soundly into Bucky's shoulder, ignoring the film entirely, and it was much more enjoyable than the first half.

The end credits were rolling in the background, but Clint was really not inclined to move too much with the way Bucky's fingers had started threading slowly through his hair. But then Bucky made a fist, tugged gently at Clint's hair, and Clint had no choice but to lift his head. He looked up and over, finding Bucky staring at him, eyes twinkling, smirk firmly in place. "Can't believe you were that scared of a movie from the 1960s, Barton. We've watched worse. Seen worse _in real life_."

Clint scowled, took a breath to defend himself (with what, who knows), but Bucky just shook his head and grinned, eyes achingly soft, and leaned down to plant a firm kiss to Clint's lips. It was short but wonderfully sweet, Bucky's lips tasting of the popcorn they'd finished a movie and a half ago. He pulled away after a short minute, ran his hand up and through Clint's hair again, and brushed his nose along Clint's at the same time. By the time Clint opened his eyes Bucky'd already moved on, flicking attentively through the film library.

Clint sighed. He should probably question the whole kissing thing, but really, what's the point? It's nice. It's comforting, and it feels oddly normal. So he didn't say a thing. Just stayed right where he was, waiting as Bucky diligently read through movie descriptions.

He wiggled, made himself more comfortable against Bucky's side, and got a languid pet for his trouble.

After a few minutes Bucky finally decided on the original version of _The Shining_. He settled a little more firmly into the couch, rested his mouth against the top of Clint's head with a contented sigh, and Clint closed his eyes. A few minutes later he fell asleep, warm and safe, to sound of Jack Nicholson slowly going mad in an old hotel.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

Clint doesn't like thinking about the third time too much.

It was five weeks after the second kiss, and it happened after another fucking alien invasion. This one was one of the worst they've ever encountered. Waves and waves of mindless beings, totally hell bent on destroying everything they came across, pouring out of a portal just outside of New Jersey. They had to call in everyone; there was Avengers, X-Men, the Fantastic Four, anyone available.

It took fourteen grueling hours to finally shut the portal down; every time they thought they'd managed to close it it tore right back open, releasing another thousand aliens onto the street.

Clint had been on the roofs at first, he is best there after all, but after a few hours he was forced to the streets, fighting hand-to-hand, using his arrows more like knives than projectiles. But Tony barreled into him a few minutes before the portal closed and dropped him off on top of a nearby building to pick-off stragglers.

It was an hour into a hectic clean-up when he found out Bucky had been hurt bad enough to be taken to medical. And, okay, so he really had no _right_ to demand to see him immediately, but he kinda did it anyway. There must've been something in his voice, his face, because Nat backed him immediately, with no questions, just got him into the next truck to SHEILD.

He had been met by Steve at the end of his mad dash to the medical floor. Steve looked exhausted, he was covered in dust, and he had a mix of dirt, sweat, and blood matted in his hair. But he didn't look worried, and that let Clint breathe the easiest he had since he found out Bucky'd been hurt.

Steve gave him a tired, understanding smile. "He's fine, Clint. Took a pretty bad hit meant for Nat, but it looked worse than it was."

Clint took a deep breath and tried not to sound too relieved when he asked, "He getting out then?"

Some flakes of crusted dirt and sweat fell out of Steve's hair when he shook his head. "They're keeping him over night. His wound seemed to bleed more than it should've, so they're monitoring him to make sure there was nothing funny with those alien weapons." Clint nodded, it made sense, even though it sucked. Steve smiled again, looking a little more awake. "I'm gonna shower and change, go yell at him before he falls asleep." He smirked. "I shouldn’t be the only one to have all the fun." He clapped Clint on the shoulder as he passed, and Clint stared dazedly at Steve's back as he walked away. Steve was fucking weird sometimes.

Clint got Bucky's room number from a pretty nurse, she was just his type for something mindless, but he couldn't really bring himself to appreciate her flirtatious fussing, he wanted to check that Bucky was really okay too badly.

As soon as he walked into the room Bucky's eyes were looking him over with an intensity Clint wasn't sure he deserved. _He_ wasn't the one in the hospital bed.

Bucky was a bit pale, fading bruises peeked out from the openings of his hospital gown, and he had a few mostly healed scratches on his face and arms. Clint couldn't see the wound that brought Bucky here, but he could admit he was mostly glad for that. 

Clint glared, but it was weak at best, he was too busy being relieved at all the light in Bucky's eyes. Too busy watching Bucky's chest go up and down with his breathing. "You're an idiot. I don't care what happened, you're still a fucking idiot."

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard his whole upper body moved with it. He looked at Clint, gaze so intent Clint could almost feel it like a physical touch. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard this already. C'mon, c'mere." He gestured firmly to the space in front of him, but Clint wasn't budging. He stayed where he was and crossed his arms, unimpressed.

When Bucky realised Clint wasn't going to move, it was his turn to glare. "I will get off this bed and come to you myself, Barton, I swear to God."

Clint held the standoff for less than a minute before giving in, slumping and slinking over, he planned to take the chair next to the bed, but Bucky apparently had another idea. He shot out an arm, pulled Clint sharply enough that he ended up half sprawled over Bucky, and half falling on the floor.

Clint groaned. Wasn't he roughed up enough today? "Aw, Bucky, what-" But he never got to finish his thought, because Bucky's mouth covered his in a hard kiss. His lips were firm, desperate, a reassurance. Clint felt Bucky's relieved, heavy exhale like it was his own. An uncomfortable buzz he hadn't noticed under his skin going quiet in an instant.

He only realised he was shaking when Bucky pulled away and wrapped a hand around one of Clint's trembling ones, gripping tight. He rested his forehead against Clint's, slid his other hand to the back of Clint's neck, whispered, "I'm okay, Clint. I'm fine, I promise, I'm fine. I got you, it's okay." over and over, between kiss after kiss.

It could have been hours, minutes, that they sat there, slumped against each other; Bucky whispering reassurances, Clint breathing them in like air.

Eventually Clint pulled away, feeling a little embarrassed, a lot shaky, but on firm enough feet to hold himself up. Bucky didn't let him get far though, refused to let go of Clint's hand, even when Clint complained about the dirt and sweat, wanting to run down to the locker room for a shower. But Bucky just tightened his grip, told him to "suck it up, Barton, I'm not lettin' you out of my sight". Clint put up a half-hearted protest, but his heart just wasn't in it. He didn't want to take his eyes off Bucky either.

So he stayed there, holding tight to Bucky's hand, watched Bucky quietly until he fell asleep. And he stayed after, stayed when doctors and nurses came in, when Bucky woke up, when he fell back asleep. Until they went home.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

After that the kissing seemed even less significant than before. Sometimes it just happened. If one of them got hurt, if it was quiet, if they were tired, Bucky would lean over or in, or he'd pull Clint across or closer, and they'd kiss.

They never brought it up. They never felt the _need_ to bring it up. It was natural, just, part of who they were together.

There was a fourth kiss, then a fifth, a sixth, a seventh, then Clint lost count. Sometimes Bucky would kiss him three days in a row, sometimes there'd be a month in between. There wasn't a structure, no rhyme or reason. It just was.

And it was good.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

It was the first time everyone had been in the same city in well over two months. If he, Nat, or Bucky weren't on a mission, Tony had been dragged somewhere for business, or Thor was off-world, someone was _always_ gone.

This time it was Nat and Bucky returning from a mission together, and luckily neither of them were hurt at all, so Steve pounced on the chance immediately, demanding everyone at the tower for pizza and beer, and maybe a movie if everyone was feeling up for it.

Clint was the last to arrive (traffic could be a bitch coming in from Brooklyn), so as soon as he passed through the elevator he was hit with the scent of at least eight different kinds pizzas, and the ever welcoming sound of loud arguing.

He winced and made his way down the short hall to the communal living room, turning down his hearing aids as he went; the room was noisy, too many layers of sound turning into uncomfortable white noise. Everything was pleasantly muffled when he got to the open door, allowing him a quick look around without distraction; Nat was in her favourite arm chair, a beer in hand, and mischievous smirk on her lips; Thor was sprawled in front of the tv with a whole box of pizza, completely ignoring the raised voices in favour of meat and cheese; Bruce was sitting calmly in a corner of the big couch, smiling quietly into his tea, an open box of Hawaiian in front of him; Steve and Tony were taking up the rest of the couch, seemingly holding the brunt of the argument (surprise, surprise), Steve was playing keep-away with the remote, and Tony was shamelessly crawling over him in attempts to get it; then there was Bucky on the loveseat, unselfconsciously stuffing an overflowing slice of pizza in his mouth. Clint shook his head, but grinned a little despite himself.

Bucky was the first to notice him, something that didn't even surprise Clint anymore, and raised an eyebrow at his hovering. Clint grinned sheepishly, shrugged, and Bucky gave him a flat look, beckoning him over with a jerk of his head.

Clint moved into the room silently, still not garnering attention from the others (aside from Natasha, but she basically doesn't count). He took his seat next to Bucky, settling heavily beside him. Bucky stared at him intently for a minute, eyes flicking over Clint's face in way Clint is _way_ too used to, before finally looking away. He pulled Clint closer, until he was pressed under Bucky's arm and fit snugly into his side, then he passed Clint a beer and the rest of his partially eaten slice of meat lovers. Bucky flicked Clint's ear as he took a bite of the pizza, and Clint whined and elbowed him roughly for it, but all Bucky did was press his knuckles lightly to the side of Clint's neck and bark something sharply to the room. Clint didn't catch what he said, aids still too low to pick it up over all the ambient noise, but it must have been something along the lines of "shut it" because Clint noticed the others quiet immediately.

Bucky turned the volume back up on the aid closest to his hand, and Clint quickly scrambled to turn the other up to match. It's probably a little strange that Bucky knows exactly how to work Clint's hearing aids, but Clint's lazy, and Bucky's a dirty enabler under that murder-eyed exterior. So maybe it's not.

Steve smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry, Clint."

Clint shrugged, tossed him a grin. "Don't worry about it, Cap. It's no big deal."

Steve didn't look convinced, but before he could make anything else of it Tony stole the remote from his lax hand, crowing triumphantly and quickly flipping the tv to whatever movie he was gunning for. Clint didn't see what it was, he was too distracted by Bucky tapping him gently on the temple.

He looked over to Bucky looking at him questioningly, Clint sighed and settled further into Bucky's side before taking a sip of his beer. He knocked his nose against Bucky's chin, nudging him gently in the ribs. "I'm good, I'm good." Clint mumbled. "Thanks."

Bucky just rolled his eyes, but Clint could see his lips twitch trying not to smile. "You're a moron, Barton." He said back, voice low, before curling his fingers lightly around Clint's jaw, pushing softly. Clint tilted his head back obligingly, meeting Bucky's lips in a firm but chaste kiss.

It only occurred to him later, when he was home in bed, with Bucky downstairs passed out on his couch, that absolutely no one made a comment about it. Even though Clint knew at least three of them were paying attention. Considering he and Bucky weren't dating, he expected _something_. Endless teasing from Tony, some loud declaration from Thor, a pointed look from Nat, _anything_. Yet no one said a thing.

And _that's_ when Clint started questioning everything.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

A week after the worryingly uneventful dinner with the team, it all comes to a head.

And, well, it's… _way_ more quiet than Clint would have thought, with his luck.

He's sitting on the couch with Lucky dozing at his feet, slowly nursing a beer, barely paying attention to the shitty action movie playing muted on the tv. There's the distinct sound of keys in the door, and he and Lucky both perk up and turn toward the noise, a second later Bucky bustles in. He quickly sheds the layers a New York winter requires, grumbling a little when his long sleeved shirt gets caught in a few of the plates of his arm. Finally looking up when he's done, he sees them both and smiles brilliantly bright, like Clint and his mutt of a dog are the best thing he's seen all day. He looks so warm and soft and perfect, definitely the best thing _Clint's_ seen all day, and Clint is so in love with him it _aches_. And - 

Oh.

_Oh._

Clint freezes, eyes wide and fixed right on Bucky. Bucky pauses too, face falling into an uncertain frown, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharp. He begins walking over to Clint, and Clint can see him assessing the room, even looking behind himself to try to find what's wrong. Apparently seeing nothing to make Clint react the way he has, he turns back around, looking less uncertain and more confused. "You… okay?" 

Clint doesn't say anything, he can't, too ridiculously terrified he's just going to blurt it out and ruin everything. He doesn't want to fuck what he has with Bucky up. Clint doesn't have many friends like Bucky, okay? He doesn't want to lose him. He won't.

Bucky stops right in front of him, not even pausing before stepping between his sprawling legs, reaching a hand out to cup Clint's jaw gently, tilting Clint's head back so he has no choice but to look at Bucky's face. "Hey, what's up?" His voice is low and soft; his thumb traces back and forth along Clint's cheekbone lightly, fingers brushing just behind Clint's ear, one resting comfortably beside his hearing aid, and Clint pauses.

Bucky has keys to his apartment, and more often than not he comes straight here after a mission instead of going home to the tower. He has space in Clint's closet, a drawer in his dresser, and there are a dozen of Bucky's preferred knives stashed around Clint's apartment. There's spare armour for Bucky in Clint's supply closet, along with a number of handguns and a sniper rifle for emergency missions. Bucky has his own shampoo in Clint's shower, his old man aftershave is in the medicine cabinet beside Clint's, and his favorite organic juice is always in Clint's fridge, even if Clint doesn't remember to pick anything else up from the store. He knows all of Clint's bad parts and bad habits, doesn't judge him when he has a nightmare and refuses to go back to sleep, doesn't say anything when Clint has a bad day and can't do anything but sit and drink, he just stays close, takes care of Lucky and makes sure Clint doesn't drink himself into a stupor. If Clint doesn't feel like wearing his hearing aids he just accepts it and makes sure Clint can always see his mouth when he talks. 

He doesn't treat Clint any differently for not being able to hear, doesn't shy away from his hearing aids, hell half the time Clint's too lazy to put the damn things in so Bucky does it for him, like it's just another part of his morning routine. And that's- well, Bucky's here a lot more than he realised. Most mornings Clint wakes up to a cup of coffee being brought to his room, and Bucky's fingers (some cold, some warm) gently clipping on his hearing aids so Clint can hear Bucky's sleep rough good morning. 

And it's like maybe, _maybe_ Bucky thinks of this shitty apartment in Bed Stuy with Clint and his dog as more of a home then the tower with Steve and the others.

Bucky's looking at him, face open and concerned, leaning down into his space like he doesn't have to think twice, and well, maybe it wouldn't ruin anything, if Clint told. 

Clint relaxes all at once, pushing lightly into Bucky's palm, daring to reach out and curl a fist into the worn fabric of Bucky's tshirt. Bucky sways closer, a move so small it's almost imperceptible, but his stomach pushes into Clint's knuckles the tiniest bit, and Clint makes up his mind. He's not going to let his fear of fucking up keep him from something he's 90% sure he can have. If there's a chance at all he can have this, he wants to go for it. He wants it. He wants Bucky.

Clint takes a breath, fingers tightening almost painfully into Bucky's shirt. "Nothing, just-" He looks up, eyes drawn straight to Bucky's, and they're the prettiest gray, beautiful, startlingly clear and so so bright. "just realised I'm in love with you. That's all."

Bucky blinks, mouth falling open with a near silent "oh", and Clint braces himself. He can't help it. It doesn't matter how confident he is, it doesn't matter that he'd rather try and lose everything than not try at all. He's just too used to taking a hit, so he braces himself, and maybe even prays a little.

Clint tenses slowly as Bucky just gapes at him for an agonizing amount of minutes, eyes focused steadily on Clint's. The seconds tick by, and Clint's devised at least twenty-seven excuses and elaborate explanations to get out of the mess he's made, because _clearly_ he went wrong somewhere, but then. _Then_ Clint watches the gentlest blush fade into the highs of Bucky's cheeks, watches Bucky smile brighter than he's ever seen, watches him bend closer, then his lips are on Clint's. Soft and sweet, familiar, but filled with a new intent, something that has Clint's breath hitching delightfully in his chest.

Bucky pulls away first, his other hand coming up so he's framing Clint's face with both his palms. The kiss was impossibly chaste, but Bucky is out of breath when he says, "I think I've been in love with you a long time, Clint."

Clint exhales a shaky breath, reflexively pulls Bucky further into him. His throat clicks when he swallows. "Yeah? That why you kiss me all the time?"

The blush on Bucky's cheeks flushes deeper, and Clint's so ridiculously in love it almost hurts. Bucky ducks his head a little, eyes dipping closed as he laughs breathily, leaning in for a much longer kiss. When their lips finally part again, Bucky's eyes are unguarded, twinkling, and filled with a breathtaking amount of sincerity when he whispers, "Yeah. Yeah it is." with that slow blindingly bright smile.

Clint breathes, feeling so full to the brim with relief and adoration that it actually aches and throbs in his chest. He tugs at the shirt in his hand, pulls until Bucky folds beautifully onto his lap, fits his other hand to the back of Bucky's neck, brings their lips together into another long kiss. Then another. And another.

And it's good.

It's fucking perfect.

**~*~ ~*~ ~*~**

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, phew!  
> This is the longest independent fic I've ever written lol. And it's not even that long! Jeez...  
> Ok, so I made a few notes as I was writing, and I'm going to paste them below this. Here we go:  
> \- it's not explicitly said, bc I couldn't really put it in and still seem Smooth™, but the kiss in front of the team is roughly a year after the third kiss. Like, when I started this I wanted it to be a slow burn, even though I might have been pretty shit at showing that. But in my head Clint and Bucky were bros for a decent amount of time, like, 3-4yrs, and sure they're no Bucky/Steve or Clint/Natasha level of Bro, but they’re different. They're relationship was always different bc they were falling in love with each other ya know? They were just absolute crap at realising it lol  
> \- also, I wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so if I didn't catch any autocorrect pls forgive me. Phones are hard >:(  
> \- also, also, I've never written in a past tense before, and I kept catching myself switching it to present, so literally if it's terrible it's my dumbass fault lol
> 
> Ok, so there all that is lol, some questions answered maybe lol
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, or Clint, or Bucky, or Steve, or anyone else mentioned here! If it's familiar to you, it's someone else's and I don't own it.  
> Title Credit: Drive by Halsey
> 
> Serious apologies for any mistakes! Hope everyone enjoyed!  
> <333
> 
> PS: if anyone is willing to beta any winterhawk fics I do in the future, please shoot me a message on tumblr ([my personal blog](http://proboners.tumblr.com)), we can work out the best way to make it happen, bc doing that shit myself is tiring and I change way more than I should and it's a mess lolol


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